


Working Lunch

by JO Lee (1337nik)



Series: Midnight Oil [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Anxiety Disorder, Co-workers, Food Issues, Food Porn, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Office Blow Jobs, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Zachariah Being a Dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 23:43:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2600684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1337nik/pseuds/JO%20Lee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has a proposition for Dean.</p><p> </p><p>AKA the continuation of "Hot sex friends" (™ Natalie)</p><p>Happy 200th episode, everyone!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working Lunch

**Author's Note:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> **Continuity**  
>  “It’s a Terrible Life” - verse - ish
> 
>  **Disclaimer**  
>  This is an unauthorised work of fiction featuring characters from the series _Supernatural_ , based on the script by Sera Gamble. I claim no ownership of the above and I’m making no profit of any kind.
> 
>  **Dedication and Thanks**  
>  To my beta goddess, hufflecas, for reasons, and CaptOcie, Em, and Dre for all their support.
> 
>  **Links**  
> [Livejournal](http://plusonetoque.livejournal.com/15889.html) | [Tumblr](http://plusonetoque.tumblr.com/post/102366664579/working-lunch)

Dean’s work day starts like this: wake up at five AM, bathroom at 5:02, shower and shave until 5:10. Suit on by 5:18, walk into kitchen, down a double extra strength espresso automatically prepped for him by the machine. No-fat yogurt or egg white and green pepper omelette on gluten free toast by 5:25, in the car and on the way to the office by 5:30. It’s been his schedule for years now and he’s gotten quick and efficient at it. If he’s lucky, he’s downtown before the morning rush starts and in his office before anyone else is even awake.

He’s got three hours to coordinate with Sandover’s clients in London and Paris, and that means more sales and a bigger year-end bonus. Most people would call him weird, maybe obsessive; he calls it being driven to succeed. He works hard all morning, making small talk over his Bluetooth earpiece and practicing his putting on the home-sized golf set Benny got him for his birthday instead of just sitting on his desk getting flabby. Today, business is slow—the shitty weather or the post-holiday lull impacting peoples’ desire to make deals with him. By the time noon rolls around in Cleveland, Dean's starting to nod off into his lunch. He jolts awake when his desk phone rings. It's Nancy, his assistant.

"Mr. Novak's here to see you," she tells him in her sugary-sweet voice. Dean actually perks up. Cas is stopping by, possibly with coffee. Dean would drop trou right there for a triple Redeye. (Maybe. Is he really that shameless?)

Castiel walks into the office, looking too serious in his tan coat hanging open and loose over his black suit. He’s a little disheveled from being outside in the snow but once he sees his friend, his face glows about ten times brighter.

“Hello, Dean.” He smiles and Dean can’t help but smile back.

“Hey, Cas.”

Both of their expressions fall quickly.

“What’s that?” Dean eyes the heavy plastic bag in Cas’s hand.

"That's all you're eating?" Castiel says at the same time, staring at the half-eaten salad in front of Dean. "I'm glad I brought this." He places the bag on Dean’s desk and starts pulling out clear containers packed with full orders of sushi—shrimp, pink fatty tuna belly, tiny mountains of orange roe burying something—not the mackerel sashimi Dean usually picks at on his rare meat day because he heard that was the healthiest option.

"I don’t eat carbs, Cas," Dean says as if he's repeating himself for the hundredth time and obstinately crunches down on a mouthful of dry spinach.

“The black rice is very nutritious. I generally follow a vegetarian diet but the fish at this place comes highly recommended. Protein and healthy fats are essential for optimal physical health.” Castiel plops a plastic tray of lobster roll right on top of Dean's salad. “And you are currently eating neither. The rice will keep your blood sugar on an even keel so you don't have to drink a pot of coffee to stay awake later."

"When did you become my mom?"

"You're my friend, Dean. I know you inside and out, quite literally." Dean feels his cheeks heat up. Even worse, his brain runs away with different memories and his dick responds accordingly.

“So, uh . . .” Dean clears his throat and busies himself with salvaging his lunch while Castiel pulls his disposable wooden chopsticks from their wrapper, breaks them apart, and carefully selects the first portion of his own roll to pop into his mouth. Dean wonders if Cas is aware of how he eats, because the way he wets his lips first with his long and talented tongue is pretty pornographic. Cas stares at him and chews slowly, his blue eyes unblinking. Dean would probably be unnerved by it if he wasn’t used to Cas. He doesn’t like people staring at him— unless it’s someone special. Then again, Cas is pretty damned special at this point. Dean wonders if his face looks as red as it feels.“What’s with the picnic?” He finally manages to find his voice. “Is it my birthday?” Dean turns on that cocky little smile he had perfected by the time he was in preschool, the one that helps him win deals and soak panties.

Castiel chews another piece of food, swallows, and licks his lips again. "I just wanted to do something nice for you,” he says, unflapped by Dean’s attempt at banter like some . . . unflappable guy.

Dean tends to lose brain power whenever thinking about Cas’s tongue and things sliding between his lips. The wattage on Dean’s smile dims a bit, softening into something more sincere. Cas is always doing nice things for him, and Dean appreciates every one of them.

"Thanks, Cas." Castiel, who generally goes by "James" professionally, very rarely hears his “real” name at work. Dean's not sure anyone besides him and Benny (and Mr. Adler) even know it. Cas quirks his own little smile finally, ducking his head. He gets so shy and flustered at work and Dean likes watching the crinkles at the side of his eyes appear. It’s not just when he smiles, either—they pop up when he squeezes his eyes closed just as he’s about to come.

Dean sarcastically thanks his brain for delivering that mental image right at the beginning of the work week, when it’s going to be at least three days before he’ll even have time to properly jerk off to it during his morning shower, and Saturday before he gets to see it again in person.

"Actually, I came here to talk about some things."

Dean is so distracted by his own thoughts that he forgets Cas is right in front of him and they’re having a real conversation. Just a regular lunchtime conversation, between friends and coworkers.

Who meet up and fuck each other, and sometimes with their other friend-slash-coworker, senseless every other weekend or so.

"Okay?" He swallows again and nods to Cas to continue.

"Fitness is a balance, Dean. I know you never work out, so I was thinking I could come by your place at the end of my morning run and we'll finish the last two miles together."

Dean groans inwardly. He bought a treadmill to avoid being seen all sweaty and panting out in public. He’s never home to use it, but it’s there. That counts for something, right?

"You don't live anywhere near me," he tries to deflect.

"I need a change of scenery. You live in a nice area. We can shower back at your place and be here by 8:30. Then you'll leave with me at 5:30.” He rattles off the list of directives like Dean is one of his employees.

“We can alternate who drives, and go out for dinner if you'd like, or see what Benny’s up to. Or I’ll go home and you can do whatever you like that doesn't involve this building."

"8:30?" Dean deadpans. "I’m normally here two hours before that. What if I have work to do?"

"It can wait for the next day."

"Why don't you just ask me to move in with you?" Dean jokes.

Castiel swallows, his eyes tick away briefly, revealing a crack in the mask of confidence he put on when he entered the office. Dean's half-empty stomach does a flip.

"You can tell me to fuck off, of course, if you'd prefer."

Dean is unaccustomed to hearing Castiel swear, outside of them being naked. "It's a nice plan, Cas. I just don't get why you’re making such a fuss over me. I'm fine."

"Benny and I—"

Dean's eyebrows shoot up before he can stop them. He doesn’t know if he should be flattered or embarrassed that they apparently talk about him when he’s not around.

"So, this is a Benny plan." He tries to bury his surprise.

"We're both concerned, Dean. We enjoy your company, and I don’t have many friends here." Whether he means at Sandover or in Cleveland, he doesn't elaborate.

Dean doesn’t like to see Cas down and worrying about him, so he takes a gamble. He gets up from his chair, walks over to his friend, and leans down to plant a kiss on those lips he’s been trying not to stare at for the last ten minutes. Castiel tastes like spicy mayo and he barely has time to ask himself if calories can be absorbed through osmosis or if he’s taken too much of a risk playing the dominant role for once before he’s being kissed back. That tongue pushes into his mouth—Dean’s not as in control as he thought—and the hand Cas isn’t using to keep his food from overturning in his lap is finding its way to clutch Dean’s hair.

They kiss long and slow, enjoying the taste of each other. Occasionally their tongues bump together; Dean stops to suck the last of the tingly heat from Cas’s, bobbing his head a few times to pull the entire length of the muscle into his mouth. Cas moans at the suggestion and Dean grins; he’s glad he’s not the only one with a one track mind.

He’s about to go back for more when Cas pulls away. He’s breathing a little harder than before, and his irises are thin rings of blue around huge black pupils, but he nudges Dean back towards his desk and takes a moment to rebalance his lunch on his knee.

"If you finish that sushi for me, I'll blow you before I have to get back to work." His eyes are trained right on the tent in Dean’s navy slacks.

Dean blinks. "Now you're bribing me with sexual favours?" He tries to play it cool, but the way he's smiling and blushing gives away his excitement. Cas cocks an eyebrow, as if questioning Dean's reluctance.

"Consider it incentive.”

“I dunno, Cas. That sounds pretty naughty. Sure it doesn't go against company policy?” Dean laughs. It’s bullshit, considering what they were doing a moment ago, but he can’t help but rib Cas a little. Aside from that first night, they’ve never actually brought their extracurricular activities outside of their apartments.

“If you’d rather not, I understand—”

“What? No, no.” Dean waves him off.

Castiel squints in confusion, not always the best at reading a situation. “Would you like me to go?”

“Definitely not! I'm teasing, man. I mean, we’re having lunch, right?” Dean hopes it’s clear that it’s not the prospect of taking an extended lunch break that’s bothering him. He kind of loves the idea of Cas kneeling under his desk while he’s working on a boring earnings report, or taking him against the wall in the boardroom ten minutes before a client walks in and Dean barely has time to compose himself. Dean has a lot of fantasies about this type of thing.

What really scares him are the changes Cas is proposing. Dean has a routine, ingrained habits. But more than a few of them are probably unhealthy, and he admits to himself that running with Cas would be a good way to break out of his gym funk, even if it means getting nasty—the wrong kind of nasty—in public. But it also means showering with Cas, kissing him under the water, washing away the stickiness right away after they come in each other's hands or mouths.

The biggest issue Dean has is the food. With all the stress and uncertainty in his life, his diet is the one thing he has complete control over. Accepting a latté or getting a beer after work means cutting calories elsewhere. His one rare, true indulgence is when Benny cooks—and he gets enough of a workout afterwards that he only has to do a small cleanse the rest of the weekend to flush out whatever cream and sugar Benny insists on throwing into his recipes.

Vegetables don’t have fat though, and he can use his extra free time to work out more to compensate for the starches and sugars. He’s been hearing good things about kale.

“Fine.” Dean goes back to his chair, glancing at the clock on the wall to see if he has enough time to run to the store and buy some lipstick for Cas to mark him up with. He grabs his salad fork, then stops and stares at the lobster roll waiting for him beside his keyboard. His lip curls up.

“Ugh, my aorta is clogging up just looking at this. My dad had a heart attack not too long ago, you know.”

“All the more reason for you to take care of yourself," Cas retorts, watching him without touching his own food again.

The sneer doesn’t go away as Dean brings a piece of sushi to his lips but once he’s chewed it, he has to admit that it tastes pretty good. He doesn’t stop himself from taking another portion of the roll when he’s done with the first.

"How'd you get so good at this food and exercise thing, anyway?” he asks around his second mouthful.

"I took recreational therapy and nutrition at university until I had to switch—I switched to finance because teaching yoga isn't a real job." Cas tries to cover his obvious flub, but Dean still catches it.

"Who told you all that?"

Cas shrugs. "My uncle. But I do enjoy the benefits of this job. Good salary, easily accessible from my apartment. Friendly coworkers." Castiel moves around the desk and goes to kiss Dean again, but they're interrupted by the desk phone ringing.

“Fuck,” Dean curses and leans past Cas to grab the receiver.

“Ignore it,” Cas urges, nipping at Dean’s ear.

“You mean slack off at work? Who are you and what have you done with Castiel?” Dean jokes, trying to suppress his dick for a few more seconds in order to answer his insistent phone. “Dean Smith, Department of Sales.”

“Mr. Smith," says Nancy, "Mr. Adler wants to speak with you."

Dean’s heart leaps to his throat and he casts a glance at Cas as his mouth goes dry. The other man pulls away and whispers, "What is it?"

“I’m on break, Nance. Think he could come back in half an hour?”

Nancy repeats the question to their boss and pauses for his reply. Dean can hear Adler’s voice in the background but can’t make out the words, just the pompousness oozing through the speaker.

“He says he’s busy today," she reports back. "It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Dean sighs. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Nancy sounds a little afraid of the casualness of his reply.

“Send him in. I’m just—” His eyes flick to Cas again, who’s grown more and more agitated during the call. “—eating lunch. With Mr. Novak.”

“He’ll be right in.” The phone clicks, and Castiel—who has since sat back in his seat— looks like he wants to die. Moments later, Zachariah Adler breezes in like he owns the place (which, technically, he almost does), oblivious to Castiel’s panic.

“Afternoon, gentlemen!” he greets them cheerfully. “Jimbo! An unexpected surprise. How are you?” Adler pats his nephew hard on the shoulder. Dean sees that Cas has stiffened up considerably, not accustomed to or fond of people casually touching him without his permission. The rest of Dean’s lunch will be spent bringing him down from a panic attack if things continue like this.

“Good afternoon, sir. Fine. How are you?” Castiel stammers, one of his nervous ticks.

“Jimmy, I told you not to be so formal with me. Uncle Zach is fine.”

“Yes, sir.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Adler?” Dean stands and offers his own hand for a shake. He wants his boss out of his office as soon as he can manage but he can’t afford to be rude.

“Great work on that place over on Lakeside, Smith. You killed them.”

“That’s what you hired me for, isn’t it, sir?” Dean manages his best fake laugh.

“Goddamn right,” Adler laughs back. He gushes sleaze. Castiel looks shocked at the blasphemy; Dean resists the urge to shudder and just keeps smiling. “Just stopping by to let you know how very pleased we are with your performance. You’ll be seeing a glowing commendation on your quarterly review.”

“That’s—that’s very generous, sir. Thank you so much."

“You’re our star, Dean. We don’t want you going anywhere.”

“I wouldn’t leave for anything, sir. I love it here.” Dean can’t help himself; his eyes tick over to Castiel and he hopes Adler doesn’t notice.

“Great to hear. Anyway, I need to be getting back. Nice to see you, Jimmy. Why don’t you bring your girlfriend over for dinner on Sunday? Your aunt would love to see you.”

“I don’t have . . . yes, sir—Uncle Zachariah. See you Sunday.”

“Fabulous. Have a good lunch, boys.”

“You too,” they both answered as he walked out and, when their boss was finally gone, they let out a breath in sync as well.

“Asshole,” Cas mutters and pokes at his cold rice.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Why don’t you say how you really feel, Cas?”

“That is how I really feel.”

“I know, it’s an expression.”

“That was . . . unexpected,” Castiel huffs and puts his untouched food back on Dean’s desk, doing something with his breathing that Dean guesses is a de-stressing exercise. He stands suddenly and walks over to hug Dean.

“What was that for?” Dean asks when he pulls away.

“You did really well. With the food. I promised you something.” Cas raises shaky fingers to Dean’s belt but Dean stops him.

“You don’t have to, Cas. Not after that, not if you’re not feeling it.”

“I promised,” Cas repeats himself.

“I know. I’m taking a raincheck,” Dean laughs and kisses him, then gets an idea. “Sit down in my chair.”

“Okay?” Castiel is mystified but does as he’s told.

Since the office is a neutral zone and they’re not sceneing, Dean figures taking over doesn’t count as an infraction. But he kind of feels like being punished for stepping out of line so he continues anyway, kneeling after Cas eases himself into the big executive chair behind the mahogany desk. What little sunlight filters through the window makes the whole office grey, except for Cas. He’s turning red faced again and there’s a bulge in the front of his pants. Even with the impromptu spell of anxiety, he managed to get turned on by the thought of sucking Dean off. Dean's touched.

“Relax, okay? I’ll help you out.” Dean slowly undoes Cas’s zipper.

“Dean—” Cas sighs at the touch and checks the clock. They still have ten minutes. For once, Dean is letting himself relax as well. There’s certainly enough time to give Cas one big, resounding orgasm for all his trouble today. Maybe another tonight, if Cas manages to drag him out of here by 5:30 like he’d said. Maybe they’ll order a pizza from that place around the corner and head back to Cas’s and Dean will work up the courage to ask about barebacking.

Dean works the zipper as far it will go and reaches inside. Cas chose blue boxer briefs instead of white today. Adventurous, like his plan to bring their thing into a semi-public area in broad daylight. Dean admires his balls, metaphorical and real ones alike. He grasps Cas’s dick in his hands through the cotton and gives a soft, affirming squeeze. Castiel puts his head back and sighs again.

He works it a little, one hand going underneath Cas’s sack, coaxing him to a full erection. When Cas is good and hard and pliant, Dean peels down the waistband of Castiel's underwear, swallowing his shaft until the dark nest of pubic hair tickles his nose. Cas’s fingers slide back into Dean’s hair and groans and pushes his hips into the wet warmth enveloping his cock.

Dean doesn’t waste a lot of time; he swirls his tongue all around Cas's length as his hand jacks him, grip lubricated by his saliva. He brings his lips to the crown and sucks the sensitive purple flesh there, his fist pumping away while his other hand fondles Cas’s balls, trying to draw out all the dirty noises he can. Castiel has this remarkable ability to stay quiet during sex—it probably comes from growing up with a house packed with religious family who frown upon the Devil’s Handshake.

Dean ignores his own hard-on and licks and jerks, working Cas’s dick until he feels a sharp tug on his hair. That was quick but he knows the signals. He swallows the whole thing again and sucks hard, drinking Castiel down as he comes with a moan that’s probably louder than he meant it to be. Dean stops to wonder if someone can hear them, if they're thinking what the hell is going on behind Dean's door, and he laughs nervously, some come dribbling out the side of his mouth. He sits up to grab a tissue before it lands on their suits but Castiel holds fast, drags him back up to kiss him, licking away the remnants of his own salty jizz from Dean’s face.

“I love you,” Cas murmurs into Dean’s lips. Dean pulls his head back and stares.

“What?”

“I—I’m sorry. That just slipped out.” Cas starts stammering again while his cheeks turn bright pink. “Does that make you uncomfortable? I didn’t mean—I just—I, um—” He licked his lips several times in a row and starts to tremble in Dean’s arms.

“Whoa, whoa. Cas.” One of Dean’s hands finds its way to Cas’s mop of permanent bedhead in a soothing gesture. “No need for the meltdown. Okay? It’s fine. I—” Dean’s throat goes dry and he swallows, something blooming in his gut and filling him with a tingly warmth, like he swallowed needles, but in a good way. (If one can swallow needles in a good way.) “I . . . love you, too. I think.” The huge grin breaking out across Cas’s face falters a little.

“You ‘think’?”

“I mean . . . I do.” Dean runs his other hand through his own hair. “Sorry. After Victor, I have problems—”

“Oh. I understand.” Instead of sounding disappointed, Castiel actually sounds quite happy. The smile returns full force, even with his face still red. Dean laughs at how happy this lunch break has made him and kisses Castiel until his lips match his face.

“I love you, Cas.”

“I love you, Dean.”


End file.
